


Sausages

by prismaticjill42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Innuendo, M/M, Masturbation, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismaticjill42/pseuds/prismaticjill42
Summary: This is a sketch based off of the same universe as my completed fic "Color Me In," which you can find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8814046





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sketch based off of the same universe as my completed fic "Color Me In," which you can find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8814046

“Sausages”

from a series of sketches based on Color Me In

 

On the third day since Ron had moved in, Harry prepared an English breakfast for them. Ron still snored away upstairs; Harry could hear him when he stood in the hallway near the stairs. Somehow, it was always Harry who woke up early and prepared breakfast. Always Harry who stopped to make lunch. Always Harry who cooked anything. He was used to it, having been cooking for himself for three months anyway, and he enjoyed it. Harry, having lived as a muggle most of his life thus far, found cooking to be experimental and fun. He tried various spells he read about in the housekeeping books Hermione sent him. Sometimes he wouldn’t use magic at all, and even then it was creative and interesting. And in the three days since he’d acquired a roommate, Harry learned that he enjoyed it just as much when Ron stuffed his face with it. It was sort of a compliment, he supposed.

He made beans, ham, eggs, toast, and sausages. Just as he was starting to plate everything up, Ron walked lazily down the stairs and zombie-like into the kitchen where he took a seat at the counter mumbling something about blankets and knitting.

“Erm, Ron?” Harry probed, thinking his best friend had taken up sleepwalking.

Ron looked sleepily up at him and shook his head, “nothing. Just, oh, thanks Harry.” Ron nodded at the large breakfast before him.

Harry laughed as he pulled his own plate towards him and stayed standing behind the counter just in front of Ron.

Ron wasted no time to dig in. And, as if the food itself was as magical as the charms used to make it, it slowly started to pull him from sleep and into the wide awake world of the morning. Ron sopped up the beans with his toast and cut into the eggs eagerly with each bite.

Harry watched him with a smile tugging up in the corners of his face. Ron was incredibly adorable in the mornings and Harry’s heart beat full and proud as if he was giving Ron something that made him happy. Harry wanted nothing but for Ron to be happy.

“Harry, about last night…” Ron started, poking one of the sausages and bringing it to his lips. He paused, the fork lingering in mid air before he slowly put it back down to his plate. There was an awkward pause for a moment.

Harry looked down at his plate to hide his blush. Hadn’t they been through it last night? He could still hear Ron’s laughter ringing through the otherwise empty house. Ron had caught Harry, in the bathroom after his shower, feeling too good on himself as he thought about his best friend. Masturbating, in other words.

The truth was, Ron felt bad for laughing. It had been a kind of nervous tick, a defense mechanism. Ron had stumbled in on Harry and caught himself staring, his gaze lingering a little too long, the air between them becoming hot. Laughter just came up.

“I’m sorry.” He offered up his apology softly, his own gaze dropping to his plate.

“I remember catching you in the dormitory sixth year,” Harry said, his voice trembling slightly, which he tried to cover with a chuckle.

Ron looked at Harry, incredulous.

“Really Harry?” He picked up his fork again and brought the sausage to his mouth.

Harry stared at him, remembering when he had pulled back the curtains of Ron’s four poster bed ready to sneak dung bombs into his sheets for a prank. Ron had thrown up a silencing charm to hide his moans, and Harry stared at his naked body mid stroke. Ron opened his mouth in a guttural yelp that was silenced so unfairly by the charm—Harry often tried to imagine what it might have sounded like. Ron's face burned red, Harry didn’t know because of his presence or not. It had taken longer than it should have for Harry to stumble backwards again and advert his gaze. Was there a saying about tall boys, with big feet…

“Well,” Harry’s voice was breathy, like he had caught his best friend all over again. He pierced his own sausage with a fork and brought it to his mouth for a bite. “We all do it, I suppose.”

Harry wrapped his lips around the sausage and slowly bit down. Ron stared at him, cheeks redder than the Gryffindor pajama pants he had on. Harry closed his eyes and smiled as he swallowed—glowing in his retribution.

Both boys were grateful for the counter between them concealing the sausages slowly thickening in their pants.

 


End file.
